Stumbling in the darkest night
Fleeing through the twisted wood
Aragorn, king of men, pulled his bundle close,
Stayed huddled over the small green hood.
The ring bearer must not die, he prayed
But to what god he could not have said
His entire self he gave over to this fear
That the chosen one would soon be dead.
He stopped and laid his burden down
Searched the sweet familiar face
Knew the bearer was fading fast
And wished for magic in this place.
Then suddenly, a soft beam of light
Illuminated the glade from afar
A voice so near remembered whispered
"How unlike a Ranger to be off his guard"
His heart filled with thanks as his love was revealed
Her serene elven splendor piercing the gloom
His voice, not quite his, trembled as he spoke low
"Frodo must live, else our existence is doomed.
Upon the steed Asfaloth, the chase was begun
Raging across plains, in forest to stream
The thundering hooves echoed from deep in the earth
And the air was sodden with poison and steam.
The Riders reached for the bearer, their shadows advancing
Floating in and out of vision, streaming before his eyes
Uttering threats in black speech, they groped for his hand
As the race sped on towards the land of the wise.
Upon the banks of the river, the Nine made their last desperate stand
So close, they could feel the one ring in their grasp
Her murmured words, barely audible, the waters raged high
And swept them away, as the ring bearer gasped.
No! On the bank of the river, her elven tears fell
As she willed his heart to beat strongly once more
Bestow my grace upon him, save him, she pled
And his mortal life was restored on Rivendell's shores.